Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone. ‘You know?’ ‘Come, come, Melusine. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. She had never had a pet, never had a real doll. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. They are not your children, they never were. She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern.
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